


Jealousy

by Morgause1



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Blood, F/M, Jealousy, M/M, Master/Servant, Sex, Smut, Soul Bond, Vala/maia, Vampirism, angbang, melkor is a perv
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-29
Updated: 2018-07-29
Packaged: 2019-06-18 07:40:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15480897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Morgause1/pseuds/Morgause1
Summary: Lord Melkor always took whoever - or whatever - he wanted to his bed. Mairon was never angry or jealous: after all, he did not own his Master and his Lord's pleasure was paramount. No reason why it should cause sibling rivalry, right?





	Jealousy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [RaisingCaiin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RaisingCaiin/gifts).



> RaisingCaiin, this is for you because a. you're awesome and b. because I love your Thuringwethil and c. because you might appreciate Mairon's studious approach (which I shamelessly stole from you). Have fun!

Mairon was furious when he entered the candle-lit twilight of Melkor's bedchamber and found the Vala sprawled across the bed with Thuringwethil riding his beautiful, naked body. That absolute idiot!

When the Vala first expressed his desire to bed the Vampire, Mairon devised a meticulous plan of action for her. It specified everything the Master might require and the correct response for each demand, down to measuring and calculating the exact angle she should keep her black-furred legs spread to and the optimal tilt of her spine: all in order to maximize the Master's pleasure. He explained and demonstrated it for her a hundred times. He even used charts and illustrations. The Vampire pretended to understand, but here she was, doing something else entirely. She was negligent in her duty, _sloppy_ even. Mairon pursed his lips.

Yet it seemed like the Master wasn’t angry: he didn't even notice Mairon coming in at first, absorbed as he was in the other's body. Then he turned his gaze to him. It’s amazing, thought Mairon, how such pale eyes could appear so dark.

"Mairon," spoken so softly by those beloved lips, his name sounded like a caress. But not an invitation.

"My Liege," Mairon bowed. "Please pardon my intrusion, I've urgent news."

"It’ll wait," Melkor leisurely twisted one of Thuringwethil's nipples between his forefinger and his thumb. She moaned louder. Even from a distance Mairon could see how wet she was. He could also smell her. Another wave of annoyance passed through him. He took a deep breath.

"Of course," he said, leaning back on the great wooden doors and fiddling with his rings. Melkor turned back and rolled the Maia onto her back. Her wings beat wildly, obscuring the Vala’s face from Mairon’s side glances. She was screaming ecstatically long before he finally let out a throaty grunt and tossed her aside, heaving. Then he signaled for Mairon to approach.

Mairon stopped the Vampire as she slithered past him on her way out and gave her a meaningful look: _wait for me outside_.

 

When he was dismissed, he found the Vampire leaning on a statue in the hallway. Blood was dripping from her, staining it. She smiled and her needle-like teeth gleamed in the torchlight. Mairon had her against the wall in seconds, squeezing her little throat just enough for discomfort.

“What was that?”

“What was what?”

“Don’t play the fool, Sister. I taught you exactly how Master is to be pleasured, and what did you do?”

“Pleasure him.”

Pleasure him! Mairon almost laughed. She really thought she did it, despite blatantly disobeying his commands. He, who knew his Lord the best, who spent ages obsessing about every inch of his body. Mairon knew exactly what he liked and what he didn’t. And this cur thought she could outdo him?

“You failed me, that’s what you did. I gave you a very simple command and you disobeyed.”

“Brother, you gave me a whole book of instructions. There was no need to get this elaborate.” she shrugged. “I just shagged him.”

“And that’s the kind of service our Lord deserves? Maiar who won’t do their best to ensure his pleasure out of sheer laziness?”

Thuringwethil leaned forward, her naked curves soft against his rigid form. He could feel her warmth against his groin, and knew that was intentional. His fána almost responded before he commanded it to stop. Then she smiled.

“Are you mad, Brother?” she asked, her voice husky. “Perhaps… jealous? Jealous that you’re not the only one who can make the great Lord Melkor cum?”

“Careful, Sister,” she was getting a bit too brave for Mairon’s liking. “Remember – you only did what every low-life Elf prisoner could do.”

And any other being, either Ainu, Man, Dwarf, or beast. But that was before the Silmarili, when he could still shape-shift at will. Once the Lord became trapped in this particular fána, his taste was severely restricted – now he only craved those with similar enough build. Mairon, of course, was mindful of the fána he wore and its desirability to the Master. Therefore he didn’t expect his Lord to wish for Thuringwethil: she was beautiful, but she spent so much time in her half-animal fána that her more Elfin features were becoming less and less prominent as time went by. She was positively _bestial_.

“That’s not enough to ensure the Lord’s protection, should the need arise.” He could feel his whip digging at his booted leg, eager to be put to use. He hoped she wouldn’t force him to flay her. Melkor wouldn’t mind, of course, but there was a cunning to her that made her very useful to Mairon, that and her bloodlust. He liked her very much, most of the time. But now something arose inside him and obscured her from his heart.

She didn’t seem deterred. “But you are jealous: you want me to do exactly what you would have done not just because you’re a control freak. It’s because you begrudge me our Lord’s attentions.” 

“I could not care less what the Master toys with. He owns me, I do not own him.”

“So why do you care so much that I did my own thing to serve him? Did he complain? Look at this vein beating in your forehead…”

He swatted her probing fingers away with a snarl. Suppressing a deep desire to chastise his Herald right then and there –until the Master pronounces his disappointment with her, at least – he answered, as coldly as he could.

“Because ‘your own thing’ isn't what he wants. It’s not good enough for him.”

“Yes it is. He wanted me, didn't he? If he wanted it done your way he'd just take you. But he didn't. He wanted me. Maybe you should accept that Master's favor can be given to others, too.”

There was something strange in the Lieutenant's eyes, something Thuringwethil has never seen before. She wondered about it but couldn't quite place it. He took a few deep, calming breaths, and his face resumed its normal, business-like cool.

“We will return to this issue later. You said that he came, but that’s just the half of what you were supposed to do. I taught you to please him like a Maia would. Was he pleased?”

“He let me suck his blood.” Thuringwethil licked her plush, ruby lips.

“Again: I didn’t ask whether or not _you_ liked it. I asked about _him_. Was he, or was he not, pleased?”

“What do you mean?”

Was she always that thick-minded? “When you tasted his soul, did you feel that was he satisfied?”

“Taste his soul?” Thuringwethil’s glee seemed to be taken down a notch.

“Didn’t you hear what I just said? Answer already!”

“He didn’t let me taste his soul…” she blinked and a new light flared in her abyssal eyes: hunger. “Does he… he lets you taste his soul? Seriously?”

“Yes.” Melkor pressed him deep when they lay together, their souls entwined in a drunken embrace. It augmented the physical pleasure to almost unbearable heights. Mairon lived for this sensation.

“I don’t believe you. Master doesn’t let anyone get this close.”

Really? “He lets me.”

She just gaped, dumbfounded. Mairon felt his shoulders straighten: he didn’t notice how tense they got. The icy knot in his chest warmed a little.

There was nothing more to be done here. He released the Vampire and turned to go.

“Do better next time,” he said, and then, over his shoulder: “ _Should there be a next time_.”

And off he went, letting the darkness of the fortress claim him: darkness as black and as sweet as the Master’s soul.

 


End file.
